


dashboard vigils

by drunkonyou



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Gen, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Post-Na Na Na (Music Video), Pre-SING (Music Video), They/Them Pronouns for Party Poison (Danger Days)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:42:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29137269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunkonyou/pseuds/drunkonyou
Summary: The night before they storm Battery City.
Relationships: Fun Ghoul/Party Poison (Danger Days)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 29





	dashboard vigils

**Author's Note:**

> just testing out the killjoys waters! i can’t wait to write more in this universe <3

Party has first watch. Ghoul can see them through the window of the diner sitting behind the wheel of the car when he gets up to—

He doesn’t really know why he’s up. He’s been jittery and restless all day, and the sun setting didn’t help like it helped Jet and Kobra. No, he takes that back. They might be asleep, curled up next to each other in their nests made from scraps of old fabric and other garbage like a couple of birds, but Ghoul sees the way they twitch, the way they toss and turn and clench their fists around nothing. He knows Jet’s got the girl’s favorite blanket balled up under his head, the same way Ghoul’s got one of her bracelets around his wrist.

_ Fuck. _ This is why he’s up instead of staring at the ducting until his eyes sting. If he can’t sleep, he needs to keep moving. Idle minds wander, and all that shit. So he sneaks out of the back room and checks their gear for the kajillionth time that day, counting battery packs and going over their plan of attack written out in Kobra’s chickenscratch with his finger. He takes stock of inventory, tinkers with shit that doesn’t need to be tinkered with. He wastes time until Party’s shift is over and they’re creeping in to wake their brother.

Maybe Ghoul will take the next watch. He glances up, the Trans Am looming out there in the dark like a big metal monster; they all know the car is supposed to be parked out back at night, but Ghoul knows Party’s just as paranoid as the rest of them, instincts ramped up to fucking two thousand since that last clap that tore them apart like nothing has before. But Ghoul also knows they’re sitting out there behind the wheel because they want to  _ go. _ They want their girl back. He feels the same way, and he knows Jet and Kobra do too. If Jet hadn’t gotten his eye blasted and Ghoul’s face didn’t get shredded, they would’ve been right up Korse’s tight ass that same afternoon trying to get her. And they almost were, if Kobra, bleeding through his shirt, hadn’t reminded Party that they don’t split up, ever. So they took time to heal, and to plan their attack, and even though it was the right thing to do, Ghoul knows Party still hasn’t forgiven their brother. Because who knows what those BLI freaks could be doing with her? With what’s  _ in _ her?

Maybe he’ll just go out there now. Keep Party company. The desert gets lonely, especially at night. And cold too, and Party doesn’t even have a fire going.

Ghoul goes outside after tucking his zapper in his pants and tying a scarf around his mouth. He crosses in front of the car so Party sees him and doesn’t accidentally shoot him, and sits down on the passenger seat, the spot indefinitely reserved for Kobra. He’d make a joke about it, but he just closes the door quietly and settles back into the worn seat.

Party is as rigid as a faulty porno droid, one hand on their gun, the other touching the photograph of the girl Jet taped to the dash the other day. It’s the only picture they have of her, and at first Ghoul thought he put it there so they don’t forget what she looks like (as if they could), but he knows it’s not that. It’s there to remind them of their mission. Their purpose. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Party was praying.

Ghoul shivers, pulling his scarf down. “Cold tonight.” He may only be in his ratty sleep shirt, but Party can’t be any better off in their jacket.

It takes them a second to answer, like they’re contemplating whether or not to break their dashboard vigil for him. Ghoul’s surprised they even answered at all, because since the girl got snatched, they’ve been calculating and distant. Moreso than usual, at least. “It’s cold every night.” As if to prove their statement, Party takes their hand from the photograph and rubs their knee. The cold never treats old injuries well, and they fucked up their knee badly last time. Ghoul remembers them hobbling around in the sand after getting their asses kicked, all of them bleeding and exhausted and Jet half conscious, threatening to leave them there if they didn’t get up and come with them to Battery City. Their leg gave out not long after Kobra talked some sense into them, and he knows they feel it at night. They all do, their old aches and pains.

“How’s your face?”

Ghoul doesn’t even realize he’s touching the scar on his cheek. It’s still numb, still hard to talk sometimes, but he gives Party the answer he always gives them, because they’re asking more out of the need for Ghoul to be in top shape than the kindness of their own heart. “Fine.”

But then they say something Ghoul wasn’t expecting, and they pull their scarf down to say it. “Can’t sleep?”

And Ghoul knows now they’ve still got kindness in their heart. They always did, no matter how curt and professional it seemed. The gaping hole in his chest the size of a six-year-old girl is just fucking them up, and it’s definitely contagious. “Diner’s too empty.” This is something he’s said to Jet and Kobra, and they both agree. Party doesn’t talk about the girl unless it’s about how to get her  _ back. _ But they know how to get her back now. It’s on the table written down on the back of an old MGMK poster.

Party nods, eyes flicking to the photograph on the dashboard and the MouseKat keychain hanging from the mirror that the girl gave him, dug up from the depths of Dr. D’s shack a while ago, and Ghoul realizes with all the force of a laser blast to the gut that Party loved her too. That they’re not desperate to get to the city because of the stupid savior complex given to them by the Witch or Destroya or whoever else. They loved her  _ too. _

The realization forces Ghoul’s hand to reach out and touch Party’s shoulder, and its warm and solid underneath his hand. It’s always good to be reminded that Party Poison is a human like the rest of them and not just an android programmed to save the world. Party’s eyes close, and Ghoul doesn’t even care about keeping watch anymore. No Dracs have been out here trying to rumble since they took the girl. They’re all back in the city. Waiting for them.

How long has it been? Kobra’s the one that likes to keep track of the days, but Ghoul has his own way too. He goes by Party’s hair, by the length and the color. He gave them a fresh dye job the night before the clap. He remembers this because he got a bunch of the dye on his neck and Jet almost blew his lid because he thought it was blood. Ghoul runs his freezing fingers through Party’s hair now, feeling the overgrown shaved patches and seeing blonde roots where red ones should be. It’s been a few weeks then. Maybe closer to a month.

“Do you want me to touch you up? Can’t have the girl thinking you let yourself go.”

A muscle twinges in Party’s jaw. “Ghoul.”

Ghoul’s stomach flip-flops like he ate some rank Pup food at the weird note in their voice. He ignores it and them. “I think there’s a box in the back—”

Party reaches up and snatches Ghoul’s wrist like they’re catching a lizard. Their hand is clammy, and he doesn’t want to think about what’s coming. Because he knows. They all knew the second BLI took her. “Ghoul. My name is—”

_ “No.” _

No one goes into the city and lives. They made their plans for tomorrow while dancing around this fact. Why else would Dr. D be following behind them with his own crew? He’s the last resort, the one you call if you know you’re not making it out, because Dr. Death Defying is untouchable (allegedly).

Party turns in their seat, leather creaking against leather, and takes Ghoul’s face in their sweating hands. Ghoul tries to jerk his head away but they won’t let him, body hot with anxiety like he’s been out under the sun for too long. Suddenly it’s hard to remember how cold the nights get.

“Listen to me,” Party says, their breath sour, their voice quiet and hard like it always is. “Ghoul—”

“No.” Ghoul doesn’t want to die. He knows there’s nothing to be afraid of as long as someone gets their masks to the Mailbox, but he kinda likes kicking around in the sand. He likes ghosting Dracs and hacking BLI’s airwaves and letting the girl play with his hair because he’s got the longest out of the bunch. He likes teaching Jet about compounds and reading crap rags with Kobra and he likes catching Party’s eye when they least expect it and accidentally brushing arms when getting geared up in the mornings.

He doesn’t want to hear the name Party was given, and he doesn’t want to think about how this was always just a suicide mission. They’re Killjoys. It’s in their blood.

He should’ve stayed in the diner and milked his ignorance until he couldn’t any longer.

Party’s closer now. leaning over awkwardly, body twisted at a weird angle. Ghoul watches them, forcing himself to keep his eyes open even though he doesn’t want to. “I don’t wanna talk about this.”

Party nods again, their fading red hair falling out from behind their ears. “Okay.”

And then they pull him in by the face and kiss him. It’s hard, and it hurts, and the nerves in the side of Ghoul’s face are so jacked up that he barely even remembers  _ how _ to kiss, but damn if it isn’t shiny as hell.

This has been coming for a while now. Way before Party was a redhead. It only took the prospect of being ghosted for it to happen. That’s just how life goes out here in the Zones, it seems. He wouldn’t have expected anything else.

Party pulls back, and the look on their face is severe. They touch the lumpy scar growing out like a vine from the corner of his mouth. “The girl told me to do that.”

Ghoul laughs, because that’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard, and yet it makes complete sense. “She’ll be happy to hear about it when we get back.”

They won’t be getting back, but neither of them mention it. Party finally settles back into their seat, but they take Ghoul’s hand with them. He wishes he could’ve gotten more time to do this, but he knows death isn’t the end. To quote Dr. D: it’s a beginning.

What’s that old saying? Killjoys never die? Yeah.

There’s movement at their left, and Party has their gun out before they both realize it’s just Kobra, coming out to replace Party. But Kobra just gets in the backseat behind Ghoul silently. And then Jet shows up a second later, and he climbs in behind Party. Neither of them point out the fact they’re holding hands, but they don’t have to. Plus, he’s pretty sure Kobra and Jet do more than hold hands sometimes.

“Looks like none of us are getting any sleep tonight,” Jet says, and Ghoul can see him rubbing his blind eye out of the corner of his own eye.

Despite Party’s desperation to always have everyone at peak health at all times, they say, “As long as we get the girl to safety.”

That’s the closest they get to talking about it. What they don’t say is,  _ As long as we get the girl to safety, it doesn’t matter if we’re on our game or not. _

“I need a smoke,” Ghoul says suddenly, the urge crawling up his throat like vomit, and gets out of the car. In the diner he gets dressed quickly, like the rest of them are, and grabs a half empty pack of cigarettes from inside his nest. He locks the door on his way out automatically. Back in the car, cigarette in the side of his mouth that doesn’t work right anymore and hand back in Party’s, he says, “Anyone want a drink?”

Everyone murmurs in agreement, and Party starts up the car. Maybe they’ll stop by Cherri’s place for a while. Maybe they’ll head to Dr. D’s and stay the rest of the night. Maybe him and Party will get to kiss a few more times before the city calls them home. Either way, he knows they’re not coming back to the diner.

As they drive through the desert under the light of the moon, propelled by their love for more things than one, whether they’re heading towards their death or to something like a second life, Ghoul thinks about how he’s glad to be doing it with these three at his side.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/worrydarIing)


End file.
